


Parasite

by shedmyskin



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate universe where Envy lives, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Post-Series, Suicidal Thoughts, Tags Will be Updated as I Update, and hopefully it will get better if I decide to write more chapters, but there’s angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 22:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21043775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shedmyskin/pseuds/shedmyskin
Summary: Envy is brought back after the Promised Day and ...is not happy about it.





	Parasite

**Author's Note:**

> A whumptober prompt that just turned into angst.
> 
> NOTE: Envy uses they/them pronouns in this fic. There is heavy reflection on their death (mostly their suicide) as it happened in the series.

Envy was ready to give a whole new meaning to the phrase “biting the hand that feeds you.”

Those fools had saved the life of a parasite.

It had been hours - no, days - since they’d been brought back by now. They forgot. They knew they’d come back wrong, they just weren’t sure _how_.

This world had always been unfamiliar to their kind. Unwelcoming. But now it was just _unbearable_ to watch. They didn’t know if ignorance or spite was to blame, but their misery was being prolonged in the worst possible way, and they just wanted to return the favour with the help of a few new unwitting victims.

The wait had begun not too long ago.

The maggots who ruled the world now were impossibly dumb; they couldn’t hold a whole lot of anything in their heads all at once. If Envy had to summarise how it had felt to come back from the dead - and they _would_ have to, of course, because these guys had a nasty habit of wanting more information than their little brains knew what to do with - they’d have to use simple words, so they settled on three.

_Cold. Hollow. Empty._

_That_ was how it had felt to come alive again.

And if not, that was certainly how it felt _now_.

From the moment they’d ripped their stone from their tiny pathetic body, they’d been _dying_ to go to hell, and in more ways than one - they’d always wanted to, if they thought about it. They’d had their fun, and so had the humans. The symbiotic relationship between them had been kind of cute at first, but it was getting too close for comfort. It hurt in _so many ways_ to look up at those fools again from the cold ground on that day, the Promised Day, _begging_ themself to leave before someone they despised made the choice _for them_.

They knew their existence had never been meant for the benefit of the fragment, the _sin_ they’d had the _honour_ of embodying. They’d been willing to leave the grand plan to cruel, useless fate and what was left of their kind, which wasn’t much but certainly didn’t need them anymore. They were weak in this body, and useless, and being exposed had gnawed at the insufferable truth they’d been trying to bury, and it was suffocating them now. They couldn’t _breathe_ on this spiteful planet. Their sin was eating them alive.

They hesitated. They stalled for time. They stalled their enemies; they stalled _themself_. They’d always hated one thing even more than they’d hated humankind. The darkness. The nothingness they’d all come from. _Seeing everything, experiencing nothing_. They hated it, and they feared it, but even still, they’d wanted it _more than this_ because at least they _belonged_ there. The feeling hit like sand slipping out of an hourglass, and they were _drowning_ again, and they _had_ to do it _before anyone else could_. _They were living, sure, but they were in hell_. Not even their body would be welcome here as they faded into dust. Not in this wretched playground built for _humans_.

Those scum, those _vultures_ surrounding them. That was the last thing Envy saw. And they’d wanted _him_ of all people - the puny alchemist - to win in the end. They didn’t know why.

They’d died a loser. A coward. A monster. Alone.

But the world wasn’t done with them just yet.

The next thing they knew, consciousness came hurtling right back at them, and it felt like _fire_. A violent medley of dread and exhilaration coloured every thought that flashed through their mind. It was like Colonel Sparkypants was burning them again, but _worse_. The new world - too much for them - the hot wet hideous tears that brimmed up at the thought of their pathetic life being saved, and the desperate memory of their former self begging them to defy the fact that they’d never _really_ wanted to die in the first place. It was impossible - it all came back to them sooner than they could _breathe_.

And they didn’t know why they’d expected to hear the endless chorus of souls screaming out for the life and death of them again, but there was nothing there anymore, and that nothingness felt _wrong_. No souls, no voices to latch on to in the place of themself. It was so damn _quiet_ when they woke up that they almost couldn’t take it. They were screaming now. They wanted their old form. Their old ugly form that had _never been alone_ and couldn’t keep quiet if it _tried_. Did they have to do _everything themself_? Sparks flew but nothing changed. Nothing fixed itself. They weren’t coming back. Their _toys_. Their _power source_. Their _voices_. _Why_ had they been left with _NOTHING_?

Their eyes widened as they met with the faces of a new audience. _Humans_. No. Envy had been screaming, writhing, _crying_, and it wouldn’t stop. They couldn’t. They were _watching them_ and every moment made the sin feel like a raw nerve. It was embarrassing. It was _humiliating_.

Father was gone. They knew he was gone. They were all gone. No one was coming back. They were all gone _just like Lust was_. _Just like Envy should have been._

They couldn’t grow bigger than their old human form now, but the walls were weak. They thought if they could just shatter their way through, they could take the humans. _All of them_. The weak, nasty piss ants who’d trapped them in a _cell_ for their own enjoyment. Those _fleas_. They’d regret this. Envy found themself face down on the floor as they tried to lunge forward and stretch out their limbs. Of _course_ they were _virtually powerless_. Those _monsters_ wouldn’t have it _any other way_.

They sparked, and they screamed harder than the souls could have if they’d even _tried_ to work together with Envy. Which they never had, because the sin’s impatient _playthings_ had made it clear a thousand times over how they’d always hated being a _monster_. It was the lullaby they’d lived with for their entire existence. And the feeling was mutual. Nothing worked. How could this happen? Why did the _humans_ win? _How_? _Why_ were they watching from the outside? What made _them_ so great? Why were _they_ allowed to experience _everything_ that Envy lost?

They didn’t get the answers they wanted. Only new ones to questions they’d never asked in the first place. They didn’t _want_ to fix anything. They didn’t _want_ to get better. They didn’t _care_ about humans, they _never would_. _Would they co-operate_? They’d rather die. They should have died. _They should have died_. They weren’t supposed to be here any more than the humans were supposed to have won. In fact, that victory was the one thing they felt eager to fix.

Delirious and inconsolable, Envy spewed a long string of curses at their captors from the ground, taunted them to let them out and see just how very _cooperative_ they could be, not bothering to give them the satisfaction of watching the homunculus try to stand, but delighting in the terror they sparked by showing off how fast they could crawl, how far they could twist their body around, how much they could _distort their features_ while they were still shackled to this useless form. They could barely _stand_ the sound of their own voice through their sobbing and snickering, but the humans seemed to be repulsed by it as well, which meant at least something was working. _They were going away_.

The homunculus clawed, they kicked, they spat venom until no one was watching (at least not from up close). Then they curled up tight in their own company and imagined the lullaby, the _voices_ \- the souls who’d undoubtedly gone on to a “better place” - nearly conjuring them back into existence for a moment like it was a cruel embrace they’d all been forced to share, one they were dying to savour again, one they somehow _needed_ only now that they were alone.

It was disgusting. They’d always _hated_ them, but they were in _agony_ now that they were apart. Their lifeblood. The _humans_. The little _ants_ who’d incapacitated them, who’d destroyed them, who’d mocked them until they’d died and then come back for seconds. They didn’t _deserve_ to make all the choices. They were _puppets_.

Envy’s fingers quivered. How dare they leave them weak like this? How _dare_ they leave them lonely? How _dare_ they leave them with _nothing_ and act like it was a fresh start? How _dare_ they be so cruel? Puppets didn’t deserve to hold so much power.

Their shoulders would have bled in their grip had they been a puny human. But they weren’t. They were a parasite. They’d make new “friends” of the humans one day, they knew, if they dared to get too close. Wouldn’t that make a _beautiful redemption story_? After all, there were things those worms still didn’t know about Envy; things they wouldn’t _like_ if they came much closer.

The thought of it was like fuel, like a new power source in the place of any real company. And the silence, the sheer lack of _anything_ brought them to tears.

They wanted their old lullaby back.


End file.
